Two skips have been filled with all the rubbish that we’ve accumulated here in the past fifteen years, countless trips to the recycling centre have been made. I’ve parted – with difficulty – with a few designer handbags and dresses, things that year after year I’ve decided were too good to throw out but now I just could not justify the expense to store. We’ve been through everything, trying to identify the stuff that we really do want to keep for posterity (old love letters, children’s school reports, christening certificates) from what can be thrown out. I decided old birthday cards can be chucked, as long as they were not home-made by the children. I’ve also decided to keep all photographs – I still think one day I’ll have enough time to go through them all and scan the ones I want to keep and throw away those that are mostly sky and where one can’t even distinguish who the person (or dog possibly?) in the photograph is. (Yes I do keep everything…). We’ve thrown out old video cassettes but decided to keep CD’s even though they’re all now on our various iPods and, as daughter tells me, something called Spotify has removed the need to own CD’s. It makes me think of the poor musicians who aren’t getting a penny, or perhaps just pennies from their work. The literary world is on the brink of a similar movement, but I digress. (What’s new?)
Back to the Big Move.
One dicey problem has been all the countless birthday or Christmas presents of candelabras, display china plates, figurines and scarves that I never liked in the first place but were too polite to say so at the time. Now that it’s time to throw them out I can’t even take any of them to my favourite charity shop as the stuff goes via some-one that I cannot be sure wasn’t the generous person who gave them to me. So off they go to the recycling, or as was the case with the china plates, into the cupboard and London where I can dispose of them more anonymously.
Even though the removal people will pack for us, we’ve been working solidly for seven days now. And I thought it was all done because the house was sorted, but I had completely forgotten about the barns. (Don’t ask)
But we are nearly there. Next blog will come from the wonderful retreat that is Babington House where we’ll be spending the next few days recuperating from the move and waiting for our new place to be vacated in London.
Wish me luck it’ll be OK on the day. (And the removal man isn’t called Fred.)